“I’ll have to go down and see dad myself, and give him the benefit of my advice. I suppose he’s at the Harvester Works?”
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Matson. “He is there early and late. He is working on another patent, and he says if it’s successful he won’t mind about the bad investments. But he hasn’t had much luck, so far.”
“I’ll have to take him out to a ball game, and get the cobwebs out of his head,” said Joe, with a laugh. “It’s a bad thing to get in a rut. Just a little more bread, Sis.”
“And so you have really left Yale?” asked his mother, almost hoping something might have occurred to change her son’s mind. “You are not going back, Joe?”
“No, I’ve quit, Mother, sold off what belongings I didn’t want to keep, and here I am.”
“And when are you going to begin pitching for that professional team?” asked Clara, coming in with the bread.
“I can’t exactly say. I’ve got to go meet Mr. Gregory, the manager and the largest stockholder in the club. So far I’ve only dealt with Mr. James Mack, his assistant and scout. He picked me up and made a contract with me.”
“Perhaps it won’t go through,” ventured Mrs. Matson, half-hopefully.
“Oh, I guess it will,” answered Joe, easily. “Anyhow, I’ve got an advance payment, and I can hold them to their terms. I expect I’ll be sent South to the training camp, where the rest of the players are. The season opens soon, and then we’ll be traveling all over the circuit—mostly in the Middle West.”
“Then we won’t see much of you, Joe,” and his sister spoke regretfully.